“I'm afraid I don't understand,” he replied rather stiffly.
“There was a fellow I knew in New York who used to sell type-writers, and he had a thing to say he used to reel off when any one looked like a customer. He used to call it his 'spiel.'”
Palliser's quick glance at him asked questions, and his stiffness did not relax itself.
“Is this New York chaff?” he inquired coldly.
“No,” Tembarom said. “You're not doing it for ten per. He was”
“No, not exactly,” said Palliser. “Neither would you be doing it for ten per if you went into it.” His voice changed. He became slightly haughty. “Perhaps it was a mistake on my part to think you might care to connect yourself with it. You have not, of course, been in the position to comprehend such matters.”
“If I was what I look like, that'd stir me up and make me feel bad,” thought T. Tembarom, with cheerful comprehension of this, at least. “I'd have to rush in and try to prove to him that I was as accustomed to big business as he is, and that it didn't rattle me. The way to do it that would come most natural would be to show I was ready to buy as big a block of stock as any other fellow.”
But the expression of his face did not change. He only gave a half-awkward sort of laugh.
“I guess I can learn,” he said.
Palliser felt the foothold become firmer. The bounder was interested, but, after a bounder's fashion, was either nervous or imagined that a show of hesitation looked shrewd. The slight hit made at his inexperience in investment had irritated him and made him feel less cock-sure of himself. A slightly offended manner might be the best weapon to rely upon.